


the dialect of volleyball

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, Gen, M/M, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: The first day of High School is never easy, especially when you're new to the area and everyone speaks different. And Suna Rintarou is determined to be miserable and martyred about it ... until he's put in the same class as Miya Osamu.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109
Collections: SunaOsa





	the dialect of volleyball

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 2 of SunaOsa week, using the prompt(s) First and Foxes.
> 
> Suna is the only member of the Inarizaki team who doesn't speak in the kansai-ben dialect, so I wondered ...

Suna could smell the eggs cooking from his bedroom, making his mouth water, and he knew she was making this just for him, his favourite tamagoyaki breakfast in an attempt at appeasement. But it wouldn’t work.

He slouched into the kitchen, saw she was biting her tongue in a bid not to snap at his posture, and pocketed a banana.

“I’ve made eggs,” she said, a note of irritation scratching at her light tone.

“No time,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t want me to be late, would you?”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I’ll take the bus.”

He heard he deep breath and watched as her knuckles whitened when she gripped the teapot. “I’m sure it will be fine, Rintarou. It’s a good school.”

“Hmm.”

“And a very good volleyball team, even you’ve admitted that.”

He scowled. “Volleyball isn’t everything.”

At that she barked out a laugh. “I’ll remember that when you’re begging me for lifts, or new kit. Now, sit down and eat a proper breakfast. And don’t tell me you’re not hungry, I can see you drooling from here.”

Sulking, he sat at the table, sipped the juice she’d poured and resolved to take one bite, then push the plate to the side and declare he was full.

Of course when she placed the tamagoyaki in front of him, and he realised she’d added nori, he couldn’t stop at one slice.

She joined him, sipping tea instead of juice. “First day for both of us, eh? Can be scary.”

“I’m not scared,” he insisted. “Just … just …” He couldn’t finish without going over the same arguments over and over, so he chewed more breakfast and tried to quell the ball of frustration in his stomach.

“Why did we have to move here?” she queried. “It will all work out, Rintarou. New school and new friends. It would have been the same in Tokyo.”

“At least there they talk properly,” he muttered darkly. “This lot are unintelligible.”

She took a deep breath, then reached over and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure the dialect of volleyball is universal. And foxes? They’re cool, right?”

_Weasels are cooler… or owls._

He supposed his first morning at Inarizaki was okay. They’d all been tasked with introducing themselves to their classmates, and when he’d got to his feet and begun his speech, no one had asked him to repeat any words or mocked his accent.

“What are you lookin’ forward to the most at Inarizaki, Suna-kun?” the sensei asked.

He thought about it, wondering whether to reveal his hand quite so soon, or whether to say something bland, but before he could speak, a voice from the back piped up.

“That’s easy,” said the boy slowly, lazily, and lifted his head from the arms he’d been leaning on. “Yer here fer the volleyball, right?”

And Suna found himself staring into a pair of heavy lidded, dark eyes, a blank expression, and black unruly hair flicked to the side.

Familiar … and yet something was wrong.

Something was missing.

Or was that someone?

“You’re a Miya,” Suna replied, remembering his last Junior High tournament. “I’ve seen you at Nationals.”

“Uh-huh, and I’ve seen ya. Never played ya, though.”

Because we only made it to the first round, moron! “Are you the Setter or the other one?” he asked sweetly.

The boy scowled, just as the sensei cut across them both. “Well, isn’t that nice. You’ve made friends already.”

When the lunch bell sounded, Miya didn’t hang around to get to know his new ‘friend’, bowling out of the classroom and fair sprinting to the cafeteria. An early indication, Suna thought later, of how his moods were driven by hunger. Following him at a more sedate pace, he watched as the boy met his brother, and they queued together. His brother talked more, his mouth in constant action, louder too.

_That’s the Setter,_ Suna thought, recalling the game where he’d blown his stack at his brother then proceeded to toss effortlessly as if the storm hadn’t happened. _So my classmate is the ‘other one’_.

A Wing Spiker. _Not my competition, then._ He tilted his head to the side, scrutinising both of them, and a familiar feeling of excitement swirled inside of him, wrapping itself deliciously around his core.

“Hey, YOU!” Miya-the-Setter yelled not caring in the slightest that he was drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “’Samu tells me yer a volleyball player. Better not be a scrub!”

“What’s it to you?” Suna retorted.

“Are ya any good?”

Suna shrugged. “Do you play?” he drawled, and waited for the response.

It took maybe a millisecond before the snub hit. “Do I play, he asks. Do I fuckin’ play?” And then he picked up a jelly carton and threw it across the dining hall.

Hiding a smile, Suna stretched, jumped and spiked the carton to the floor where it landed with a splat at someone’s feet. The boy, in perfect uniform, turned. Older, probably, and with a serious expression on his face, he stared at Suna undaunted by his superior height. “That’s a waste of puddin’,” he stated.

“Yeah, my puddin’, too!” yelled the Miya-who-was-Suna’s-classmate. He was frowning as he stormed across, and then froze in the headlight beam of the senpai’s gaze. “Uh… yer the guy who greeted us on the open day, right? Um … Kita … Kita-san?”

He inclined his head. “Miya Osamu, I see,” the boy replied crisply. “Already settlin’ in.”

“Uh-huh. Sorry ‘bout my brother.”

“Are ya?” he queried, and turned back to Suna, modulating his words. “You weren’t at the open day, I don’t think, but you play volleyball?”

“Mmm. I’ve just moved.” He swallowed. “From Tokyo.”

“He played at Nationals,” Osamu put in. “I remember seein’ him play.”

“Ah, I see. I am Kita Shinsuke.” He offered him a smile that even if it couldn’t be described as warm was at least sincere. “Welcome to Inarizaki. Our team’s excellent.

“Suna Rintarou.”

“You look like a fox, Suna-kun,” Kita said softly as he perused him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, figuring it was a compliment, and taking a step back, he gave Kita a bow, ignoring Miya.

_I could have been a weasel, though. Or an owl._

“Tell yer brother to clear this up,” Kita told Osamu. “It was his fault, after all.”

“Uh sure.” Osamu licked his lips, waiting until Kita had gone and then knelt down, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket as he mopped up the spilt pudding. “He won’t,” he explained to Suna. “Prob’ly blame ya fer not receivin’ it.” He looked up at Suna. “Great move, though. Even ‘Tsumu was impressed. Yer kinda twisty, ain’t ya?” he chuckled and gave him a slow wink. “I remember that from watchin’ yer game.”

And in that moment, for some unaccountable reason which he was sure had nothing to do with Miya Osamu’s grin, Suna began to feel he belonged.

_I’m going to be a fox,_ he decided. _I’m going to play alongside the Miya twins, and we’re going to take everyone down!_

Fishing out a handkerchief from his pocket, Suna crouched to help clear up the mess. _The weasels and owls and eagles and badgers and…_ He sucked in a breath. _We’ll take them all down._

And as he squashed up the jelly, his knuckles bumped Osamu’s, who caught his eye, holding his gaze for the minutest of seconds.

“Careful, Suna-kun,” he muttered. “Yer almost smilin’. Anyone’d think ya like bein’ here.”


End file.
